Chirp(82)

At nine-thirty, Rance drove the Camry into the lot at the rental place and reclaimed his Harley. Stuffing the paperwork into the saddlebag, he secured her duffel with a bungee cord. He handed her the only helmet, then straddled the seat, and her heart pounded at the memory of how those strong thighs had boxed her in hours earlier.

She eyed the bike from front to back. “What kind is this?” She didn’t care about the answer. Only wanted time to work up the courage to get on the metal monster.

He grinned. “Street Glide Chopper. Vintage 2008. Badass, right?”

Wren swallowed hard. This might have been a bad decision. The machine had appeared harmless enough parked at the farmhouse, but now, standing next to all the black metal and chrome, it looked dangerous. Like the rider. “Yeah. Badass.”

He cut his steely eyes over at her, and his mouth quirked up. “We’re ready to roll. You ready to ride?”

He looked downright wicked in the best possible way. Sunglasses in place. Bandanna tied around his head, ponytail hanging below the knot. She put on the helmet, took the position behind him, and snaked her arms around his waist.

“Hold on, baby.” He kicked the engine to life, shot out of the parking lot and onto the highway.

She screamed, tightened her grip, and felt his laughter vibrate against her chest. He was testing her, or trying to scare her. She wasn’t sure which. Blaze Bledsoe wouldn’t be fazed, but Wren Montgomery was anything but a biker chick.

Once on the interstate, he weaved in and out of traffic like a choreographed dance. The wind tore at his hair, whipping strands loose.

As soon as he got out of the city, he took the first exit onto a state highway. Apparently he was taking the scenic route. Fine by her. Snuggled tight with his back muscles flexing against her and the vibration between her legs turned out to be a good combination.

Soon the mowed boundaries of the interstate gave way to butterfly weed, goat foot, and wild morning glories, which reminded her she had a wedding to plan. As soon as she got home, she’d find a dress online and have it shipped overnight. Rance would need a suit. Wren Keller. Mrs. Wren Keller. Mrs. Rance Logan Keller. She loved how each of those sounded.

Her thoughts bounced around between style, fabric, flowers, and cake. Even with a simple ceremony, tradition was important. She wanted a dress with lace. She could wear her mother’s, but it was in storage. Uncle Bill had a key to the place, but he’d never find it among all the other stuff. No, she’d buy her own. Not enough time to get her mother’s and have it cleaned and ready in three days. But she needed to contact Bill and ask him to give her away. Other than Helga, he was the closest person she had to family.

Rance stopped at a red light and leaned into her. “You doing okay?”

“Yes.” The word echoed against the helmet like being in a well. The light changed, and this time he eased into the throttle, brought one booted foot off the pavement, placed the other on the foot pad, and gracefully leaned back, putting his neck in reach of her lips, and she couldn’t resist. She planted a kiss first on one side and then the other. He reached back and gave her leg a squeeze, and she shivered.

Town after town flew by, some smaller than Bluebird. Wren tried to concentrate on her surroundings because she’d never been in this part of Texas. Banners for festivals and flea markets flashed by. Time slipped away, but as the sun moved behind them, she knew they had to be at least halfway home.

When they reached the city limits of a one-traffic-light town, he angled into a spot in front of a convenience store. Next to it was a taco/snow cone stand. An odd combination, but the aroma of grilled onions and peppers hung in the air, and Wren’s stomach growled.

Rance spoke over his shoulder. “You get off first. The bathrooms are inside, and the last time I was here, they were decent. The tacos aren’t bad either.”

Wren dismounted, removed the helmet, and stretched. She was stiff all over, and her butt was numb. Rance didn’t seem any worse for wear. His windblown hair and facial stubble only made him sexier. Inside, two teenaged female clerks gawked and pointed to the word painted on the metal saddlebag. Outlaw.

Rance swung his leg over the chopper and adjusted his junk. The two teens widened their eyes. Wren couldn’t blame them. He deserved the title. If they only knew how bad he was, and by bad, she meant good, she might have a fight on her hands. She shivered.

“You cold? I have a sweatshirt in my bag.” He walked to stand next to her and pulled her into his arms. “Or we can move around behind the building and I’ll warm you up.”

The girls inside were getting an eyeful. “Okay.”

He sucked in air and coughed. “You’re calling my bluff, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe later?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s my girl.” He tilted up her chin. “You don’t mind kissing a guy with bug juice on his teeth, do you?”

“Hush!” She wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

He laughed out loud. “I’ll get us some tacos before we leave. Davy Crockett National Forest is right up the road. We can have a picnic.”

When they arrived at the park, Rance found a good spot and angled the bike in between two tables. Wren had never seen a place so beautiful. A thick mixture of elm, oak, cedar, and dogwood towered over the area, with some of the leaves changing colors.